


The Current of Change

by Morningstarofnight



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Percy Jackson is a God
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2018-12-07 02:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11613786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morningstarofnight/pseuds/Morningstarofnight
Summary: After the Battle of Manhattan comes change. Percy knew that all too well. He can’t see the future, but he can feel the differences creeping in, as sure as the cold tug of water’s power within him. He is that change now, he carries it as a bridge between what he was—demigod, son of Poseidon—and what he will be for eternity—a god like his father. He carries his essence in the ominous name of the bronze sword in his pocket, in the uncertain, persistent hope from his mortal life. Percy became a god because he wanted change. Not all change is good. Can he find the balance?((AU from end of The Last Olympian))





	1. A Different Fate

“But I didn’t, because I thought—I didn’t want things to stay the same for eternity, because things could always get better.”  
-Rick Riordan, _The Last Olympian_

Percy usually came in to Camp Half-Blood by sea or pegasus—over the past few years that had happened more often than not by accident or when he was in a rush, in the middle of a quest. But now it was a dark hour past midnight a week after the Battle of Manhattan, so he decided that maybe he should just sneak in to the Poseidon cabin so nobody would notice.

His thoughts were sidetracked, as usual, by Annabeth. She hadn’t spoken to him once since they came down from Olympus after the battle. Percy probably deserved that, but it hurt. He’d spent most of the week split between helping out at camp with new cabin plans after the gods agreed to at least that provision, and trying to deliver a mountain of explanation to Annabeth on Olympus as she got immediately to work taking notes on damages and reconstruction materials. She’d been avoiding him all week. Maybe here, at camp, he could…

Percy’s concentration broke and his stomach twisted uncomfortably. There was a hiss like water being thrown on a hot pan.

Annabeth broke her cold shoulder of Percy thanks to him dropping out of the air near the roof inside the Athena cabin and landing squarely on her in the middle of the night.

“Aaaaagh!” Annabeth’s eyes shot open and rolled around in the confusion of being startled awake.

“Aaaah!” Percy yelped.

Immediately his plan for popping quietly into camp went to pieces. Woken by the yelling, Annabeth’s siblings started rolling out of bed. Someone flicked on a light.

“ _Percy?_ ” Annabeth said. “What are you—” Then Percy watched her eyes narrow as she remembered she wasn’t speaking to him. “ _You_.”

“Um, it’s not what it—uh,” Percy said, scrambling off her and backing up to the wall of her top bunk. “I was aiming for the Poseidon cabin, sorry. Um—”

“Then _get out_.”

Annabeth’s voice was dangerous, but there was a fragile edge to it. Percy understood that, assuming she shared the lump in his throat. Being this close to her, but feeling anger radiate off her every word, feeling guilt at being unable to just talk to her like normal—it was so much more painful than watching her dodge behind a broken column at fifty paces.

He half-tripped down the bunk bed ladder, crammed a few more apologies into the tense space of the cabin, and fled, trying to tune out the whispers and stares of the other Athena kids.

Lights were on in a neighboring cabin, so Percy sprinted across the lawn. His body dissolved into mist in response to his panic, and he zoomed up to the front door of his cabin, tripped on the top step when his form flickered again, and fell through the door.

He slammed the weathered wood behind him and sank shakily to the floor. Somehow he doubted his upcoming _second_ week as a god would make Annabeth any more likely to talk to him.

It started when Percy accepted Zeus’ offer of immortality and godhood.

He remembered hesitating. “May I ask something first?” Zeus had nodded, curious. “I don’t mean to offend, but—if I accepted—” a nervous glance at Annabeth, who was staring at him, pale and open-mouthed, “—would it be possible…I don’t want things to stay the same. As a demigod, I understand that things can’t—they shouldn’t. And I know the gods aren’t supposed to do so much interacting with the human world, but maybe that should—maybe things should be different?”

Zeus narrowed his eyes, but he did give Percy permission to continue, so he had. “What I’m…trying to say, is that—if I were a god, I don’t want to be apart.” He looked at Annabeth again. “I don’t want to abandon the people I care about. And I’m not saying you—any of you—have, but so many of Luke’s followers were demigods who were angry because their godly parent never showed themselves, never claimed them, and so they turned away from you all. If…I’m allowed, I want to stop that from happening again. I want to be there for my friends, to protect them and help out new demigods. And I can only do that as a god if…something changes.

“So,” Percy had taken a breath, “I accept your offer, if I may fill the role I wish.”

Zeus looked at him with interest. “Our essences as gods are decided by who we are, the roles we fill. In the case of mortals who became gods, what they valued in life marks their godly nature. _You_ value change and mortality. I may name you a patron and guardian of aspects such as these, but I believe your father will impart his understanding of your relationship to the sea.”

Poseidon came forward then, resting a hand on Percy’s shoulder. The warm weight helped calm the dizzy sensation that was beginning to rush through him. “Perseus,” he murmured. “You carry a sword with the name of a swift and dangerous, ever-changing current. To preside over the kind of change you seek, you must also understand the physical changes of our world, those currents in the ocean. Changes can cause harm as well as benefit. The sailor must map where waters flow, the swimmer must measure caution. You would do well as a patron of my currents, I think.”

“Thank you, Father,” Percy said.

Athena had watched him silently throughout the exchange, her eyes keen and cutting, but she voiced her approval of the decision and when Zeus called for a vote from the other gods, they lifted their hands in favor. They seemed intrigued more than anything, wondering at the kind of role Percy would fill.

He looked to Zeus. “So does this happen now, or…?”

Zeus waved a vague hand at him. “Go, take a moment with your friends here in mortal time.”

Percy gave a nervous nod, and backed away from the gathered gods before turning and facing Annabeth. She looked like she wanted to kill him.

“Percy, I—”

“—don’t want to lose you, Annabeth,” Percy said at the same time. “I l—want to stay with you, with Grover, with camp. But I want to help, if I can do it like this. We could put in new cabins, see about making sure unclaimed demigods don’t happen, it’ll be okay—” He stopped.

Annabeth wasn’t really looking at him. There was a watery edge to her eyes, the gray irises like storm clouds.

Percy leaned forward and hugged her tight, at that moment realizing just what he was doing, what he might be sacrificing. “I’ll be there for you, for everyone, when you need it. I promise.”

Annabeth’s arms around him were like iron, clinging as if he might dissolve into mist like Poseidon leaving a room.

“You’d better go, then,” she said. Her voice was faint, but she put on a brave smile and brushed a lock of black hair out of his eyes. Percy had the uncomfortable feeling that she was memorizing what he looked like human, mortal.

His legs felt unsteady when he turned and walked back again to face the gods. Percy could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and his mind scattered, wondering at every beat, every breath— _do the gods breathe? Do they have a heartbeat? Guess I’ll find out, ha._

“I’m ready,” Percy said, though he didn’t quite feel the same.

The gods as one stood and moved forward, encircling Percy and blocking him completely from view of the mortal watchers. Zeus laid a hand on his head, Poseidon and Hades his shoulders. Ares clamped his wrist like a vice and grinned at him. Percy tried not to panic at the feeling of all the Olympians pressed in around him, extending hands to brush his arm, his wrist. Power radiated from their auras, and Percy’s vision swam. Sometimes he saw them in their modern clothing, sometimes in armor, sometimes in Greek chitons and tunics. Sometimes he thought he could see light glowing just beneath their skin. His breathing started to outpace his heart, until a small, warm hand touched lightly on his upper back and immediately calmed him. Percy didn’t turn, but knew it to be Hestia.

Zeus began, but the other gods joined him, speaking as in one resounding voice: “Perseus Jackson, for your valor and heart we name you Perseus, god of change, god of currents, guardian of demigods.”

They spoke in Ancient Greek, and with each word Percy understood them more clearly than he had even as a demigod attuned to the language. With the listing of each item that was his to patron and guard, he felt a rush in his chest, like standing before mighty waves.

“We make you immortal and gift to you the power necessary to extend your essence. Be where you are needed, where you are called, where your presence is felt. Your people will serve you and may you serve your people. Be.”

Percy was glowing, he realized then. The light didn’t hurt to look at, but when he looked down at his hands there were streams of gold pouring over and from them. His mind felt hyper-focused on his own presence, but despite that he didn’t feel entirely _solid_. Percy noticed how the room acted as if the light was much brighter, eliminating the shadows that had been around the gods’ feet, and reflected in the eyes across from him Percy saw himself, only he didn’t look like a sixteen-year-old glowing kid. It looked like the Olympian gods had gathered around a small star.

Percy shattered, pieces of thought flying off. His mind relaxed, no longer focusing all its efforts on keeping together. The glow faded from his hands, and he felt real again, felt the weight of his feet against the ground. The gods moved away from him. Percy could still feel half his thoughts around the room, and for a moment he wanted to gather them together again, but then he understood exactly what that bright light meant, why his reflection had looked like a star, why the gods had hidden him from the sight of Annabeth. He had a true form now, so bright and powerful it would burn away mortals. He was pretty sure Annabeth would do her best to kill him if he did that to her, incineration be damned.

With that, the meeting was over. Poseidon remained at Percy’s side while the other gods moved on to talk to various others, nymphs, soldiers, and dole out the ambrosia.

“I… _really_ need to talk to my mom,” Percy realized. “I told her I’d leave a sign or something that I was okay. And, uh, well, I’m a little more than okay.”

His father chuckled. “I don’t envy you that conversation. I had it once with her myself, with a different relationship, of course.”

“Do you think she’ll take it well?”

Poseidon’s eyes crinkled. “She’s a rare woman, and god or not, you’re still her son.” His expression turned. “I imagine she’ll make you finish high school, though.”

“You can’t be serious.” Percy thought for sure godhood would be the ultimate blow to his record with schools.

“Only one way to find out.”

Poseidon called forward an honor guard of Cyclopes, Tyson standing proud at the forefront, to lead Percy and the rest out of the throne room. Annabeth wasn’t looking at him, but when he looked over at Hermes, she murmured that she would meet him at the elevator and ran off.

Percy found himself cornered by a couple of the gods, who had then started giving him pointers on his powers and future. When he finally got through and spoke with Hermes about Luke, afterwards the god simply looked at him and gave him a slight smile.

“You’ll make eternity interesting, I imagine,” he said.

Percy shifted on his feet, not sure how to answer. “I hope that was a compliment,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“It was.”

Percy leaned against a column after Hermes left, and put a hand against his heart. Yep, it was still beating, he was still breathing. It felt stronger, somehow, and the hairs on his arm stood up and tingled where he had laid his hand, but the feeling of his heart beating, just as it always had and maybe a little fuller, was a reassurance.

Athena, on the other hand, was not entirely pleased. “You have hurt my daughter’s heart, Perseus. I believe she wished that you would remain mortal, even if I myself think your wish to bridge our two worlds may prove itself.”

“I know I need to talk to her,” Percy said.

“Take care,” Athena said. “You are change now. You must deal with what comes. Nothing stays the same, and your relationship with Annabeth will never be what it was before. But,” she gave Percy a judging look, “that does not mean it is ended.”

Percy crossed back to the elevator, and stood next to Annabeth as they rode down. When he arrived, she had lifted a hand as if to touch his face, but froze before she touched him.

“Your eyes!”

Those were the last words she would say to him for a week.

* * *

Now, in the dark interior of the Poseidon cabin, Percy got to his feet and went to look at his reflection in the water of the fountain, which at some point had been fixed. His eyes glowed a gentle, phosphorescent sea green, the most visibly inhuman quality he could find. His face otherwise looked the same, and Percy wondered if he could make himself look a year older at a time, but didn’t want to test the theory in case he accidentally switched on 100-year-old god mode and couldn’t change back.

The clopping of hooves sounded on the steps, and there was a quiet, but firm knock at the door.

Percy grimly walked back over to the door and opened it. Chiron stood there in his pajamas, a blue button-down decorated in little cartoon Greek heroes with a matching horse blanket and sleeping cap pulled over his ears. The centaur bowed politely, which made Percy stare even more. Chiron had a crutch and something like a boot around his leg, but even the past week had healed him well.

“I heard there was a bit of commotion at the Athena cabin?” His old teacher gave Percy a kind smile.

“Ah,” Percy said. “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake anyone. I just sort of landed in the wrong cabin.”

Chiron tilted his head. “Annabeth?”

“We’re still not on speaking terms,” Percy said stiffly, drawing himself up and gripping the side of the door tightly with one hand. “She uh, made that clear just now.”

“Oh dear.” Chiron sighed. He leaned on his crutch and glanced back at the Big House. “Rachel isn’t what I would call _happy_ , but she’s been working on Annabeth. I’d hoped…but then.”

“Yeah,” Percy said.

“I take it you’ll be here for breakfast, though?” Chiron asked, gently steering the subject.

Percy blinked. All his running around over the past week meant he hadn’t actually sat down for a regular meal at camp. In fact, Percy couldn’t remember eating at all. He should have been starving.

“Uh—” he managed.

“It’s all right,” Chiron said. “It’s harder for gods to pay attention to meal times if they aren’t receiving any offerings.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Percy grumbled, and surprised himself with annoyance upon hearing that nobody in camp had included him in the offering fire. Not that he fully understood what it was about the smell of burning food gods enjoyed, but the gesture or lack thereof tickled at the back of Percy’s mind now that he knew about it.

“Everyone in camp is still getting used to your change,” Chiron said, as if he could sense what was going through Percy’s head. “Including you, I suspect.”

“I would like to have a better handle on things, yes,” Percy agreed.

Chiron smiled. “Then perhaps some sleep is in order?”

Percy’s mouth opened, and then closed. “I haven’t been sleeping…?” he asked in a horrified whisper.

When he was on Olympus failing to reach Annabeth, he wandered the streets at night. Even though much of it was wrecked, there was still a calm beauty to it. Lights had been strung around temple posts and through uprooted gardens, so sparkling and bright that Percy couldn’t help but walk along in the quiet. Or at camp, several times he had walked straight into the lake in frustration and let himself drift, dissipating into the currents like he was stretching his muscles. When he reformed, it always left him a mixture between relaxed and exhilarated. Apparently this was being substituted for sleep.

“Good night, Percy,” Chiron said softly, and with another bow, he limped back to the Big House.

Percy shut the door, but didn’t climb into bed. He walked over to the fountain and fished a coin out, fingering it in his hand for a minute before throwing it in with the usual demigod’s blessing to Iris, since he didn’t know what a god would say.

“Poseidon,” he said. Hopefully his dad wasn’t too busy; Percy didn’t think Poseidon would be asleep, if his mortal-a-week-ago son couldn’t even manage it.

The rainbow shimmered and opened onto a scene of Poseidon leaning over a makeshift table with a bunch of building plans on it. Construction was going on in the background, hundreds of merfolk and other sea creatures coaxing coral to grow and maneuvering beautiful stonework into position.

Poseidon looked up as the Iris message reached him, even though Percy hadn’t spoken. He grinned through his black beard. “Perseus! It’s good to see you.”

The weirdest part, Percy decided, was that now that he was a god, he could talk to his father like a regular person.

“Hey, Dad,” he said. “I’m at camp. Um…do you have a minute alone to talk?” Percy didn’t really want to spill his godhood troubles at the feet or fins of everyone in Poseidon’s kingdom.

Poseidon gestured at the plans on the table and waved his other son Triton over to supervise. The god swam away from potential eavesdroppers and perched on a mostly intact reef, the Iris message wheeling along with him. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

“I’m just…a little overwhelmed,” Percy admitted. “And I’m not even really _doing_ that much.”

He remembered Annabeth’s shock, the dismay in her voice: _Your eyes!_ The way she said it: _Then_ get out. “It’s Annabeth. I want to try and talk to her, make things right I guess, but I think my new powers…scare her. Chiron told me to sleep on it, I think. I just don’t know what to do. How to reach her.”

Poseidon folded his arms. “And you haven’t told your mother yet.”

Percy hated when he did that. He wasn’t that much of an open book, was he? “Uh, no. There wasn’t time immediately after the battle, I got pulled away because of the thing with Rachel becoming the new Oracle. I’m not sure Mom noticed any difference.”

“Sally is perceptive, even aside from her ability to see through the Mist,” Poseidon warned. “She knew something was unusual about me fairly soon after we met, and I know how to mask my godly aura.”

“How should I talk to her? Or Annabeth. Either, really.” Percy sighed.

“Brace yourself,” his father said simply.

Percy didn’t have to ask what he meant. He could feel something in the air, like the pause before the wind shifts direction. It made him uneasy, because he couldn’t tell what kind of change was coming—just that it was. He nodded to his father, who broke the Iris connection. Percy was left staring at his glowing eyes in the water of the fountain again, trying to see what differences the next day would bring.

* * *

Percy woke early from dreamless sleep and dawn was barely on the horizon. He ran a hand through his hair. By his estimate, he’d gotten only three hours of sleep but wasn’t tired. He dropped out of bed, made an attempt at cleaning, then gave up and went outside to sit on the front step and watch the sunrise.

None of the other cabins were awake, but a few of the satyrs were out and about tending to plants around camp. Percy scanned their groups for Grover, but his friend was nowhere to be seen. Grover was busy now, too. He was usually somewhere deep in the woods or in the middle of Central Park, on business with nature spirits and other satyrs. Percy desperately needed to talk to him, because he wasn’t sure what would happen to their old empathy link with his new godhood as a factor.

The gray sky turned a hazy yellow-pink. Percy could feel the change happen like a throb in his heart. It didn’t give him quite the same feeling as drifting in the currents, but a new dawn was such a human way of symbolizing new hope, new expectations, new uncertainties. A moment when the whole world was in flux.

Percy didn’t realize he was standing on tip-toe, holding his breath, eyes glowing more fiercely than ever—until a satyr glanced his direction, yelped, and skittered away. Quickly, he sat back down and tried to calm himself, releasing his gathered thoughts, the pieces of his essence that had come together at that moment. In a way, it wasn’t any different from how his brain usually worked, always processing and jumping around like a fighter staying on their toes. And at the same time it was unlike anything Percy had ever experienced. For a moment, as he let his focuses disperse or reached out to gather a thought inward, he was everywhere his thoughts were, in the currents and ten different places around camp. And he _knew_ : currents were favorable out in the sound; an early morning fisherman had cut his motor and expressed praise that the water carried him swiftly to his favorite location. That was him, Percy realized in a daze with a thrill of warmth in his heart. The fisherman was praising _him_ , even if he didn’t know his name.

But it was dangerous to hang on to those thoughts for too long. Not for Percy—just every mortal around him. So he let the knowledge go, ebbing away like the tide. In the back of his mind, if he wanted to, he could pull from those scattered aspects and understand.

When Chiron rolled up beside him in wheelchair mode, Percy jumped. “Ah! Morning, Chiron.”

“Breakfast,” the centaur reminded him. “Care to walk with me, Perseus?”

Percy looked at the sky. At some point the sun had crawled higher, and the cabins were bustling with early activity. He didn’t say anything, but fell in beside Chiron and walked as the wheelchair maneuvered over the camp paths.

He felt a moment of hesitation before the large dining pavilion. Most of the cabins were still working their way over, and the dull roar of everyone talking amongst themselves hadn’t reached its loudest point yet, but the Ares, Demeter, and Athena cabins were already present. Upon crossing the threshold, Percy tried to make a move for the Poseidon table, but Chiron laid a gentle hand of restraint on his wrist.

“Perhaps you should join me at the Big House table,” he said.

Percy glanced at the campers already seated, notably Annabeth, who was determinedly not looking at him so hard it made the back of his neck itch. And then at the empty Poseidon table he would be the only one occupying, and felt grateful for Chiron’s offer. People might still stare, but it would be better than if he sat at his table alone.

“Thanks,” he said.

The two of them took their seats at the long table. Percy slipped onto the end, next to Rachel. She seemed slightly uncomfortable with his presence, but gave him a genuine, if weak, smile. Percy returned it.

When all the cabins filtered in and the meal began, there was significantly less talking than usual. The Ares table had dropped to whispering, which was unusual for that cabin, and Clarisse kept looking at Percy nervously. Percy’s stomach flipped around, his whole body tingling with the energy he could sense from every shift in atmosphere, every difference in treatment from the campers.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come to a meal,” he muttered to Rachel. “Nobody knows what to think of me when I’m running around camp; it’s even worse now.”

Rachel looked him in the eyes, unbothered by their glow. Percy remembered that as the Oracle, she had the same problem from time to time. “You’re…a god. They don’t know if they should call you Percy or Perseus, if they should train with you or not, if they should put food in the fire for you at dinner or just pass you a plate.”

“Um, what exactly do _you_ think about me?” he asked.

Rachel shifted in her seat. “…I feel like I have to call you Perseus. It’s your godly name. I don’t really fight, so I guess I won’t be training with you.”

Percy looked at the food on his plate. “It’s weird,” he said. “I haven’t eaten in a week. I thought I wouldn’t be able to just _forget_ like that, but…”

A shadow fell across his strawberries. Percy raised his head and flinched. Annabeth was glaring down at him. “ _Perseus_ ,” she stated. “Meet me at the canoe lake after breakfast.”

Heart pounding, Percy knew he should probably be offended as a god by the hostility in her voice when she spoke his name, but it was covered by the hope rising in his throat at the possibility that he would be able to fix just _one_ of the gaps between them.

In the back of his mind, though, there was Poseidon’s warning again: _Brace yourself_. And Athena telling him he and Annabeth could never have the same relationship as before. Percy watched Annabeth stalk back to the Athena table and swallowed.

Percy was the god of change. He had to move with it.


	2. Friends Are Complicated

Apollo had given Percy a goblet of nectar after Rachel accepted the spirit of the Oracle. He looked at the liquid suspiciously. “Did you guys forget to give me the actual immortality or something?” Percy asked, vaguely remembering versions of myths where ambrosia or nectar was used to such a purpose.

“Ah, no, that’s been covered,” Apollo said with a laugh. “But hey, who says you can’t enjoy the taste now that it hopefully won’t burn you to ashes?”

“Hopefully?”

Apollo’s sunbeam smile did not give Percy confidence.

He glanced through the honey-colored nectar to the bottom of the cup. For demigods, eating or drinking what was meant for gods was slightly risky. Amazing healing powers, but always that slight chance of incineration you had to watch out for.

Percy wasn’t a demigod anymore, he reminded himself. He drank. It still tasted like blue chocolate chip cookies, and he remembered his mother’s sweet but unapologetically triumphant smile when she dropped a plate of them in front of his old stepfather Gabe Ugliano. Percy pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, savoring the flavor as long as he could. Would this taste remain, even after his mother was long gone from the short light of a mortal life? Would his memories of her, of his own mortality, fade one day?

He noticed that Apollo’s expression had changed, the god’s eyes turned calculating, like he had a sense of Percy’s new future but would reveal nothing.

Something in Percy’s gut twisted, sending a shiver up the back of his neck. Instantly he knew that this moment in time was changed, although from what it could have been he had no idea.

Apollo was gone.

Percy’s eyes followed the slope of the hill, to the lake, and saw the small figure of Annabeth, her blonde hair shining, sitting alone at the end of the dock.

* * *

Breakfast ended long after Percy’s appetite disappeared. Annabeth’s request had been issued like a challenge, and a cold finger up and down his spine refused to settle.

She waited for him in the spot she had been a week ago, when Percy drank nectar without fear for the first time and felt the first turning of change in the world.

Percy didn’t know whether he should remain standing, or sit down next to her on the wooden boards. Anxiety at the approaching confrontation threatened to pull his body into mist. He took a deep breath and finished walking to the end of the dock, sitting as close to Annabeth as he dared.

“Annabeth?” he ventured.

“What’s it like?” she said, so quietly Percy almost didn’t hear her. Her gray eyes still avoided his, and her fingers tugged at a lock of her hair as if to hide her face.

“Being a god?” Percy closed his eyes, hiding the green glow visible even in daylight. A few thoughts flashed through his head. Being a star, surrounded by the Olympians. Zeus catching him on Olympus two days ago before he could leave and giving him a stern lecture on certain rules he had to keep in mind, even as the god of change. Don’t mess with the Fates, don’t interfere too much in the lives of demigods, be wary of your power and knowledge. Keep your distance when you are able. Report to Olympus on the solstices, _you’re_ the one who thought minor gods should have a voice. That last one the sky god had delivered in a particularly nasty tone.

Dissolving into the mist, the currents. Feeling life and the flow of time running through and around him, the hope, change, chance, in every millisecond. Hearing the voice of a fisherman from far away thanking the sea and the currents like an old friend.

“Weird,” he finally said.

Annabeth looked at him. Percy felt her eyes on him before he opened his own to meet her. Her breath caught, a wary and guarded expression resting on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Percy said. “I _think_ I can…turn them off, if you’d prefer, but I don’t really know how.” He made a helpless gesture at his eyes.

“No,” Annabeth said slowly. “I don’t want to forget what you are.”

Uh-oh.

“Listen to me, Perseus.” Her voice became stronger. “After everything— _everything_ —we have been through together, you’re leaving. Oh, yes, you’re still here. But you are gone. It’s like there’s something else sitting here talking to me. It’s got your voice, your face, maybe it has your heart, too, but I can’t trust it anymore because I don’t know _what_ it’s here for.”

“Annabeth!” Percy cried. “You heard me, you were there! I want to help—more than I could as a demigod. Maybe I could have asked for a different gift, done something differently, but what if it only fixed things while we were alive? Or not even then. There’s _thousands_ of years of demigod history in between us and the ancient past, and how much has changed? Maybe this way I can keep an eye on it, I can be there, make sure the next five thousand years don’t follow the same patterns over and over again!”

“And maybe that’s important!” Annabeth shot back. “Maybe the same lessons, same stories, get repeated so we don’t forget why they mattered in the first place.”

“And maybe with every story that repeats, they change,” Percy said. “People get new chances to fix old mistakes. Annabeth, I can _feel it happening_.”

“Change could happen without you,” she spat.

The wind picked up, turning Percy’s black hair wild and sending ripples running towards him across the lake. All of the naiads that usually sat on the bottom had fled. “Yeah, maybe it could! But I’m here now. Some part of it is tied to _me_. I’m supposed to be a bridge, a guardian between demigods, mortals, gods, _everyone!_ Two sides that have never really been great with communication, and I want to be there to see it change. _That_ is what I want, what I’m here for.”

Annabeth laughed, but it wasn’t the kind, joyous one Percy loved. “Maybe I was wrong about the prophecy in the Labyrinth that day. Maybe it was meant for a year down the road. ‘ _Lose a love to worse than death_.’ And I thought—”

Percy shot to his feet, his eyes blazing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he connected the sensation with Greek fire. “Don’t—” he choked. “Don’t you _dare_ —I am _nothing_ like—that’s not fair!”

“Is it?” Annabeth got up. She scrubbed at her eyes and stabbed him in the chest with one sharp finger. “I’m going to die one day. And I’m going to die knowing I will _never_ see you again, no matter how long I wait.”

“Perseus—” She took a breath to say more, but faltered, looking up at him with an expression in her eyes like…fear?

“Percy.”

He glared back at her, more hurt than angry. “ _What?_ ”

“Uh, can you put down the lake, please?” The fire had drained from her face, and Annabeth’s voice grew small and quiet.

Then Percy realized that his fists were clenched, a small gale whipping his hair around his ears. A lake trout landed on his shoulder and flopped off the dock. There was no splash. Carefully, Percy looked over his shoulder. A giant wall of water had risen up behind him, curled protectively over his head like a wave frozen mid-break, draining the lakebed all around to feed the surge. Fish swam in a tight school inside, searching for the rest of the lake.

The burning feeling faded abruptly from his eyes. Percy tried to release the water, but he still felt caged, stinging from the fight with Annabeth, and nothing happened. He twisted back around, a numb horror spreading from his chest through to his face. He wouldn’t be surprised if even the glow of his eyes had dimmed.

“Annabeth,” he said, and his voice came out breathy, panicked. “I can’t—I’m sorry—I—”

The wave crashed around him, soaking her. Percy felt his body dissolve as it hit him, the water collapsing and streaming back into the lake, and he was gone, nothing but a strong current.

* * *

Poseidon contacted him when he was halfway across Long Island Sound, speaking so suddenly into Percy’s mind that his human form snapped back together, floating in the water in a bubble of dryness like he was used to as a demigod.

_Perseus, calm down_.

His heart raced. He was shivering from head to foot. In the back of Percy’s head, Zeus’ words rang like alarm bells: Be wary of your power.

_You are agitating the currents. Breathe_.

His dad’s voice, so sure and steady, echoed in his mind as if he heard it on all sides. Percy drifted down through the water and rested on the ocean shelf, tucking his legs underneath him and curling up, listening to the rush and pull of the waves rolling overhead like a heartbeat.

_How do you do it, Father?_ Percy thought.

The ocean sighed.

_Because I must_ , Poseidon said. _Oceanus would have a wild sea, hostile to all life as it was once before, long ago. Kronos would have a sea frozen in time, perfectly tamed and controlled or else chaotic, without reason. Who is left to care for the sea as humanity knows it?_

There was a pause. Just as Percy was considering that this might be a better answer for a _Why_ question, his father continued:

_That does not explain how I do it, perhaps. I’m afraid every one of us must find our own way of handling the task set before us. But I draw strength from every mortal who writes that the sea is a place of journeys, an open road full of forking and dangerous paths that may yet lead to a place of paradise or salvation. Every time humanity feels beckoned by a blue horizon, I feel it. The rhythm of tides and storms is my doing and my guide. The trust, respect, and hope of my people—these are all I need._

_I think you know what I mean, Perseus, at least a little_.

Percy lost himself in the current again, racing along the shoreline, curving around New York and back again until he could think clearly, running over the argument with Annabeth. Once, he breached the surface and noticed that night had fallen. Away from the city’s light pollution, Percy could see more stars, so many that he could barely distinguish between constellations. He floated on the surface of the water, drinking in the view until the sky turned gray-pink-gold and the now familiar thrill of the dawn and change promised by day filtered through his chest.

And still her words hounded him. Stories repeated because they mattered, because they were part of the timeless history of humanity like the cyclical forces of day into night, low tide flowing out of high tide.

“You’re right,” he admitted, as if Annabeth could hear him. “Of course you’re right, wise girl.”

One thing was wrong, though—nothing ever happened exactly the same, over and over, even if it felt like it. Every time, history was a little different. Small changes. Medusa is killed by two heroes named Perseus. Were those encounters ever really that similar?

Percy was right that the potential for change happened in every repetition; at each new moment, the balance hung precariously. ‘ _Olympus to preserve or raze_.’ The prophecy had not predicted the outcome, only understood the chance. Like the cold Percy felt on his neck.

Then it was as if he stood before Athena again, and saw her somber face telling him that he had hurt her daughter’s heart.

_I’m trying to make things right, I just don’t know how_ , he pleaded. Poseidon had told him to brace himself, to find his own way. Athena had said that the possibility was there that he could restore this broken relationship. Apollo had said nothing, only introduced him to the world of change and chance.

Percy had told Annabeth that being a god was weird. More than that, it was _hard_. He had no idea what he was doing. All he had to go on was a half-understood drive to flow, twist, change, and a still unwavering loyalty to his friends that kept swinging him around to the hidden valley on Long Island no matter how much he tried to run away.

The longer he stared up at the brightening sky, the more Percy wanted to just go home. An ache in his chest tugged in four different directions. What was he even supposed to call home now? Camp Half-Blood, where most of his friends tip-toed around him like he might explode? His mom’s apartment, with a family he hadn’t told about a significant drastic change in his life? Poseidon’s under-construction palace, with family he was still shy around? Mount Olympus?

The urge to talk to Grover overwhelmed him. Percy hadn’t seen the satyr at all in the past week, only heard about where he might be.

Percy rose from the water in a fine mist and sped up over the mouth of the river running along New York. It was similar to shadow-traveling, Percy decided, except he could see where he was going and change direction with a thought. He reached out for his empathy link with Grover, hoping it would still be there. If not, the act of focusing on his friend might work like it had accidentally with Annabeth.

He hovered over Central Park, searching for the secluded areas and quiet groves the dryads preferred. There was a definite pull on his essence to a certain spot, but Percy hesitated.

Pop music, reed pipe cover edition, drifted to his ears and he would have smiled if he had a body. Now that he was still, hanging in the air like a whiff of the ocean, he could see in detail the ground below. A guy with baggy jeans and a hat smashed down over curly hair was leaning against a tree, picking out a few bars of music and gently batting away the branches leaning down to strangle him.

Percy circled, looking for a spot to land that wouldn’t give Grover a heart attack when he appeared out of nowhere. If he could just come down through these branches and then—

“Gah!”

He had to figure out how to stop doing that.

Percy hit the ground hard from twenty feet up, and Grover jumped.

Percy got up with a grimace and shook the pain out of his arm. The fall should have caused more damage, so he had the suspicion that his immortality had just been given the opportunity to prove itself. As he took a deep breath to turn around and tried to gather a few of his thoughts on what to say to his friend, the satyr crushed all the air right back out of him.

“Perrrcy!”

The bleating cry from Grover, followed immediately by a warm hug, nearly made Percy sit down in shock. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed it.

“Hey, man,” he said, his voice a little weak. “Good to see you, too.”

“Man, you have been so freaked out the past few days. I couldn’t come up to camp and talk to you—been so busy trying to talk to the other satyrs and sort out the whole Council business and stuff, a lot of them are kinda angry—Juniper told me I’m doing great with it though—tried not to be nosy on your emotions but like _whoa_ Annabeth was not joking about your eyes.” Grover’s rush of words, like he was trying to catch Percy up on everything in one sentence, halted.

“You’ve talked to Annabeth then?” Percy asked, trying and failing not to let his heart sink.

Grover stopped and started a few times, before finally settling on, “Uh, yeah. She—sort of caught me up. Wouldn’t tell me anything, just that you got a gift from the gods. And warned me that you have some creepy—um, that your eyes glow.”

“She didn’t tell you what happened?” Percy stared at him. He was already facing having to share this with his mom. Not Grover, too.

The satyr shifted, slipping one tennis shoe and fake foot off to rub his hoof nervously against his leg. “Um, not really. She said she wasn’t comfortable telling me, that it was for you to explain.” Grover’s eyes were wide, staring straight into Percy’s.

“You might want to sit down,” Percy said faintly. “I think I’m going to sit down.” Either that or be sick.

Grover leaned towards him, one hand out as if to steady him. Percy flickered, mist one second and solid the next, and Grover snatched his hand back. “Gods, Percy, what…?”

Percy sneezed at the satyr’s mild curse. “I can’t really control my eyes, or the—whatever it’s called that just happened. Not yet, at least.”

He dropped heavily into a sitting position, arms wrapped loosely around tucked-up knees. Grover followed suit. Percy took another breath. “The gods offered me the gift of immortality.”

Understanding dawned on Grover’s face. “Oh, _gods_.”

Percy sneezed again. “Yeah. Me included. God of change, currents, professional demigod watcher. That’s me now.”

“Before you say anything,” he added quickly, as Grover’s mouth dropped open, “please, just—I really need you to not freak out. Annabeth wasn’t talking to me, then we had a fight and I nearly lost control and I think I scared her bad, and everyone at camp’s weirded out already...” He trailed off helplessly.

Grover closed his mouth and studied him. “…Well, _gam_ _óto_.”

The swear neatly translated itself in Percy’s head. “Yeah. I—I really need someone on my side right now. I don’t know—” He ducked his head and flickered again, cutting off a sob before Grover had to try and comfort a crying god in the middle of Central Park. Of course, his friend would recognize the emotion despite his efforts to hide it.

When he returned to his human form again, Grover reached out again, resting a nervous hand on his shoulder. “Perce, you know I’m not gonna run away on you, right? I thought maybe you were just stressing over something back at camp, but…I mean, your emotions are a little harder to read than normal…” The satyr chewed his lip. “To put it bluntly, you’re pretty messed up right now.”

“Thanks,” Percy said.

“I’m not leaving you, Percy,” Grover said. “And Annabeth—she’ll come around. You’re her friend. We forgive each other, even after we get mad, right?”

Percy echoed the question. “Right?”

They sat together in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of nature waking up in the middle of the city. Grover put his fake foot and shoe back on when some mortal joggers passed on the trail nearby. The early hour hadn’t registered in Percy’s mind when he went to find his friend. He still felt scattered, and as more and more of New York’s dawn reached his ears, the more he felt drawn in by so many different rhythms.

Night wasn’t as bad—things changed overnight, happened in the night, but it was the dawn that made people aware of the difference. Or so it seemed to so many mortal lives. Percy was growing into a morning person, just to feel it.

Birth, death, crime, random notes of kind words slipped beneath a stranger’s door.

Birds singing, trees rustling, the changing notes on Grover’s pipe.

Earlier, floating in the ocean, hadn’t been enough. Now he was surrounded by so many people, ever-changing humans, and the feeling was so much stronger that Percy couldn’t help but drink it in. Rather than draw into himself by recalling pieces of his essence from far away, he dispersed, reaching out a dozen fingers into the air as if he could touch everything he was feeling.

Finally, he let go, drawing in his awareness until he remembered he was sitting beside Grover on the grass. The sun was high, almost noon.

Percy frowned at the sky, then looked at Grover, who was playing around with his pipes but more or less in the same position he had been a few hours ago. “Um. Sorry about that.”

“God thing?” Grover guessed.

He nodded. “I…zoned out. It’s hard to explain. If I went all zombie on you for the last few hours—”

“Actually,” Grover said, “you _vanished_.”

“I what now?”

“Your eyes started glowing—um, more than they were—and you disappeared, but the air smelled like ocean, so I figured you were…still around, so I stayed.” Grover’s explanation made the hairs stand up on Percy’s neck.

How had he not noticed the lack of weight from his human form? The passage of time? He shivered. He needed to get a handle on his godly powers, now.

“Thanks for waiting, I guess,” Percy said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Grover shrugged. “I told you: I’m not leaving you.”

Percy fiddled with a blade of grass. “Guess I should get back to camp soon. I’ve been gone—a day and a half? Maybe. I keep forgetting to eat, sleep, that kind of thing.” It was uncomfortable to talk about it, the traits that marked him now as inhuman, ethereal, apart from time.

Grover didn’t seem to mind listening, although his eyes were wide. By the time Percy got to the part detailing his argument with Annabeth, he’d already flickered in and out of solid existence a few times and his words came out like a bad radio signal. But he kept it up, because if he couldn’t talk about this to Grover he couldn’t talk about it to anyone, and he didn’t want to carry its weight like that.

“I was thinking I could help people even more from the perspective of a god, I guess. All those future demigods, not knowing what to do or maybe falling into the same traps. And with Chiron getting so injured in the battle, I thought—what if he—” Percy broke off and shook his head. “Then Annabeth said I was like L—Kr—I don’t know. She thinks I don’t care about her.”

“And?” Grover prompted.

“Of course I _care_ about her!” Percy’s skin felt hot.

“I know _that_ , dude.” Grover rolled his eyes. “You going to give up on her because that’s what she thinks?”

“…No.” Percy sighed. “It’s not as simple as just saying it, or helping her out. It’s about me being immortal, a god. And her…not. We can’t live our lives at the same pace anymore.”

“Oh,” Grover said quietly. Then, “Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, you know.”

Percy looked at him. “Yeah. I think Chiron told me something like that. You’re older than me.”

“You ever stop and think about what that meant? We live twice as long.”

Then Percy understood. Until recently, Grover would have naturally outlived both him and Annabeth. “I mean—it’s a little different,” he started. “You didn’t choose that.”

“Neither of you noticed, though.”

Percy wanted to keep explaining why their two situations weren’t the same, but even though they _were_ different, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to speak any more of those thoughts. It just wasn’t right.

“No,” Percy agreed. “We didn’t notice. I’m sorry.” He’d been saying that a lot lately.

“It’s not your fault,” Grover said. “I’m just saying. If we could still be friends, even then, even now, do you still think there’s no hope for you and Annabeth?”

“I guess you’re right.” Percy made a slight smile. “Annabeth has a pretty solid record for holding grudges against gods, though.”

Grover thought about that. “Why do we even bother with friendship in the first place if it gets this tangled?”

Percy mock punched him in the arm. “You know why.”

They laughed, and Percy knew that Grover felt the ease of the pain in his heart, just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, the swear Grover uses is modern Greek, but if anyone knows a good Ancient Greek F-bomb stand-in, let me know, I guess.


	3. Smells Like A Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! Procrastination on something else makes me stop procrastinating on another thing!

Percy had planned to spend the afternoon talking to Grover about being a Lord of the Wild, and if there were any overlaps between that and godhood, which he suspected there were. His horse had other ideas.

Blackjack cantered out of the sky and startled a flock of pigeons and one nearby jogger, who did a double-take, shook his head like he’d seen this kind of nonsense one too many times, and kept running.

_Lord Perseus!_ the pegasus whinnied. Percy’s head snapped up like he’d been called to attention. _You haven’t been around the stables to visit me, but I have smelt your presence in the wind. I am the horse of a god now. This means I get donuts, right, boss?_

Percy sighed. “No, Blackjack. What are you doing all the way out here?” If the winged horse had flown all the way into the middle of the city to find him, there had to be a reason.

_Oh, right. Chiron told me to tell you to tell him when you were going to be back in camp. There’s a couple new demigods on their way, they should be here later today._

“The first ones the Protectors have been able to bring in since the battle,” Grover added. “He told me they found them a couple days ago, I didn’t know they were already on the way.”

“And he wants me to…greet them? Introduce them to camp?” Percy swallowed. _Guardian of demigods_. He had a job to do.

Blackjack stamped the ground expectantly by way of answer, and Percy glanced at Grover. “I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

“You got this, Percy.” The satyr gave him a thumbs-up as he climbed onto his horse’s back. Percy gave Blackjack the signal to take off and they shot into the sky, soaring back towards camp.

As the black wings beat steadily and the ground slipped away beneath him, Percy leaned low over Blackjack’s mane and breathed. The cold on the back of his neck had returned, signaling coming change. Percy tried to remind himself that just because it made him shiver didn’t _necessarily_ mean that the change was going to be bad, but so far little promise came from it.

“Blackjack, set down on Half-Blood Hill,” Percy said. “It will happen there.” The cadence of his words sounded strange to his own ears, filled with complete calm and confidence. But the knowledge had swept in with a thought.

The pegasus obliged, angling his wings to turn and folding them in slightly, cutting a slant down through the clouds and into view of the camp. The small figure of Chiron stood on the hill, limping back and forth as if nervous.

Percy urged Blackjack to move faster, and they quickly landed. He slid off the winged stallion’s back and ran to Chiron.

The centaur sighed in relief. “I was afraid he wouldn’t be able to find you. The situation has changed.”

“Of course; these are demigods we’re talking about.” Percy smirked. “When have we ever been predictable? Um, I mean—they—when have they—you know what I meant.”

“One young boy, around eight, the other is twelve,” Chiron announced. “They’re friends, but unrelated. Camping in the Appalachians with a parent, so they were already in the state. On the road back home, they were attacked by a monster and separated from the parent.”

Percy winced. “Yikes. How…did they fight?”

“Hid, it seems. But the monster found them. It’s on their trail. We have a Protector helping them in to camp.”

While it was bad, Percy thought that sounded like an unfortunately usual event. He waited for Chiron to drop the other horseshoe.

“The boys are making good time. They should be here within the hour. I wanted you to see them into camp. But…it’s what happened _after_ they crossed into Manhattan that has me worried.” Chiron held Percy’s gaze steadily. “The monster caught _your_ scent, and it’s much more interested in you now.”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Percy said. “Why is a monster coming after me if I don’t smell like a demigod anymore?”

“Perseus,” Chiron said, a note of warning in his voice. “Instead of a demigod, you smell like a full god, untested, unknown. A new god, something that hasn’t existed for our kind in a very long time.”

“It’s too much to ask for it to just say hello and leave, isn’t it.”

Chiron lifted his injured leg, as if to stomp it, but it just hung in the air. “A monster that defeats a god in battle may feed on that god’s energy, even if it cannot kill an immortal. Most monsters would never attempt such a thing, and so prefer to go after demigods. But if they were to find a young, inexperienced god…”

A sick feeling crawled into Percy’s stomach and camped there. He remembered how old and stretched his father had looked when he was losing the battle with Oceanus. Like something had been sucking the life out of his all too similar green eyes and black hair. Poseidon had said his appearance reflected the state of his kingdom. Percy wondered if there was a little more to it now.

“So…I probably shouldn’t lose,” he guessed.

“That would be bad,” Chiron agreed.

“Do you know what the monster is, at least?”

“No. When the Protector we have in the field contacted me, they hadn’t seen the creature yet. Whatever power it possesses, it will use all of it against you.”

Percy understood that as an unspoken suggestion that he should probably use all his power against it in return. The only problem with that was Percy not really knowing what he could do on a godly level.

Chiron looked down the hill at the empty field under the bright sky dotted with clouds. Percy couldn’t see anything, but his back tingled with chills like someone was pouring a steady stream of ice down his shirt.

The centaur turned to walk down the hill back to the Big House, but out of nowhere Percy found himself reaching forward and grabbing Chiron’s wrist in a death grip. “It will happen here,” he said.

Chiron furrowed his brows. “I suspect so, yes.”

Percy shook his head. He was having trouble hanging on to a solid shape again; his mind felt like it was filled with racing static, thoughts zipping in and out. He felt completely cold, as if the sense of change had spread into his entire body.

Something happened to his clothes. He didn’t have time or space to wonder, but for a moment, Riptide hung in sword form at his waist. His arms shimmered, and the forearms were bound in simple leather. A weight on his legs felt like some kind of shin-guard, but he didn’t look down to check.

Blackjack, waiting patiently beside them on the hill, danced and flared his wings. Chiron acted similarly, twisting around on his hooves as best he could with his injuries and Percy still clutching his arm.

“It will happen here,” Percy insisted. The moment passed. He let his grip fall, and his clothes were normal again; a Camp Half-Blood t-shirt and jeans. Riptide was a pen in his pocket. His head still spun, but he didn’t feel like he was going to scatter into mist again. He was still chilled to the bone. The only outward evidence that anything had happened was the wild nervousness in Blackjack’s posture and the grim expression on Chiron’s face.

“Perseus,” he said, picking out the syllables carefully. “What do you mean by that? What’s going to happen here?”

Percy considered the question. Weren’t his words obvious? “You know,” he said eventually, “it.” He darted his eyes around the top of the hill, from the pine tree and the Golden Fleece with Peleus curled protectively around them both, to the place where he’d slain the Minotaur what seemed like eons ago. The whole place was charged with possibility, a place of pivotal moments, like the ocean as a place of journeys.

“Do you think it has anything to do with the arrival of the new demigods? The monster that’s on its way?” Chiron pressed, but he looked like he didn’t expect a real answer.

Rubbing at his forehead, Percy said, “No. I just—it will happen here. Styx if I know what ‘it’ is.” He hesitated. “Chiron? Do you know what just happened to me?”

The centaur didn’t answer. He stared into space, thinking.

Percy tried again. This time, at the mention of his name, Chiron lifted his head. “I’m thinking,” he said slowly, “that you should talk to another demigod who became a god sooner rather than later.”

“Great. Where am I supposed to dig one of them up?”

“Right here.” Chiron gestured down the hill to the heart of camp. “Have you forgotten? Dionysus was once as you were.”

“No,” Percy said firmly.

“Perseus, you were taught his mythology. You know this.”

“Yeah, and I’m still saying, _no_.”

* * *

A few minutes later, Percy sat across from Mr. D at the picnic table set up on the Big House porch. Chiron was dripping wet but seemed pleased with himself.

Mr. D stared pointedly at the centaur, who excused himself and went inside. He poured himself Diet Coke from a wine bottle with a sigh. “Look, Pe—”

“Call me Peter Johnson and I swear I’ll hit you,” Percy growled. “I’m not in the mood.” Then he blinked and flinched, because as much as he’d grumbled about Mr. D getting his name wrong in the past, his words this time came out like a threat.

Mr. D raised an eyebrow. “Interesting,” he commented. “No need to worry, _Perseus_. It would be an insult to misname a…fellow god in such a manner. Our names are as much a part of our essence as our power. As such, I would appreciate it if you referred to me as Lord Dionysus.”

When Percy raised an eyebrow back at him, Dionysus added, “Failing that, Dionysus, _sir_ , young upstart.”

“Fine,” Percy said. “Sir.”

“Fine.”

They stared at each other in silence.

“Chiron’s aggressive persistence in dragging you down here suggests to me that you had something you wanted to talk about,” Dionysus prompted.

Percy found himself staring at the leopard-print shirt. “Yeah. What you’re wearing…is that decided by your godly essence or do you pick that fashion on purpose?”

Dionysus’ eyes flared a dangerous purple. “Watch it, _boy_ —that is, _young_ Perseus. The leopard is my sacred animal. Perhaps I should wear its skin to remind you of its power when bound to me?” His form flickered, and there was a moment when the god wore a Greek tunic with a real leopard skin draped like a cape hanging off one shoulder. The fur rippled and shone in the sunlight filtering onto the porch. Dionysus flickered back to modernity.

“That right there,” Percy said. “What _was_ that? Something like that happened to me. I looked…different, I think.”

Dionysus looked him up and down. A small smile crawled onto his face, which surprised Percy. “You _are_ a god. Is it so surprising that others are beginning to look up to you, see you a certain way?”

“You mean…my friends, the other campers…they think of me like—?” _A warrior?_ was Percy’s unspoken thought. It made sense, sort of. He’d known he was admired for his skill with a sword, and he had been a leader in battle and on quests. But it was alien to him to think that other people might remember that when they saw him, rather than all the times he’d tripped on a completely flat surface.

Percy looked down at his hands, and concentrated on that strange feeling he had when he gave Chiron what sounded like a warning. His whole body cold, the difference in his clothing. His clothes flickered, and the weight of Riptide once more materialized against his waist, light leather and bronze armor on his arms and legs. His shirt and jeans looked the same, but Percy wondered if they would be affected at some point, too.

“God of change,” Dionysus said, and was that a hint of _respect_ Percy heard? “Such a precarious thing, hung too often on the point of a sword. And your particular sword encompasses that and more, god of currents. To finish, you were named guardian of demigods. Everyone here knows this. Small wonder they would hear that and take it to heart.”

As Percy sat there longer, he grew more comfortable with his appearance and watched as the leather wrappings around his hands and arms shimmered and became light, black fingerless gloves. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that version of the aesthetic.

The bronze greaves on his legs stayed put, as did Riptide’s sword form. Percy figured that was as good as it was going to get for now and crossed his arms self-consciously.

“If that’s all you’ve troubled my time with then—” Dionysus made as if to rise from his chair.

“No!” Percy said. “Um, Dionysus…sir. Back on the hill with Chiron, there was a moment where I—knew something. I tried to give him a warning. I think.”

Dionysus resettled in his seat. “Yes, we gods tend to do that. You may have noticed how few mortals take heed of that knowledge.” He scowled like Percy was responsible for that.

Percy ground his teeth, trying to form words. Asking Dionysus for help, trying to seek out some form of mentoring from the god, never sat right with him. “Do you remember—when you were a demigod?” he finally asked. “Becoming a god—do you remember what it was like?”

“Yes. I tended to turn men into dolphins a lot,” Dionysus said, his face unmoving.

“What I _meant_ ,” Percy snapped, “was that I’m trying to understand how I know anything.”

“My dear young Perseus, I’ve been trying to understand the same ever since I met you,” Dionysus said in a voice that oozed sweetness.

A noise bubbled up from Percy’s chest that was like waves crashing against a rock. Across the table, purple fires stared into green and the air popped and crackled, smelling like grapes or sea salt. Unconsciously, his hand wrapped around Riptide’s hilt, at the same time that Dionysus broke eye contact and looked over his shoulder, up the hill.

“A lovely chat we’re having, but it seems your little challenger has arrived,” he said.

Percy cursed in Ancient Greek and twisted around in his seat. Of course, he couldn’t see anything, but he reached out with his mind and knew Dionysus to be right.

Quickly, he spun back to face the other god. “How do you figure out why you know something tied to one of your aspects?” Percy demanded, hoping one of his questions was understandable enough to answer. “The pieces of yourself that fly off and disperse—how do you know where they are, what your knowledge comes from?”

The cool response: “You don’t.”

Percy gaped at Dionysus, and tried to muster an argument but all that came out was a splutter.

“Not unless you are in your true form,” Dionysus continued, and Percy relaxed somewhat. “With practice, you may retain awareness, but your _consciousness_ will only be where the heart of your essence is.”

Percy supposed he should be honestly grateful, but as it was he just snarled a hostile-sounding “Thanks”, and leaped from the picnic table bench.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter this time, but I finally decided I wanted to break up this particular sequence into two parts. Or I just wasn't patient enough to write another 2k words before posting the chapter. Possibly both.


End file.
